


The Price

by Sanalith



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-19
Updated: 2012-03-19
Packaged: 2017-11-02 05:48:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/365616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanalith/pseuds/Sanalith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During her time in the Dark Castle, Belle asks Rumpelstiltskin if he can teach her how to spin straw into gold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Price

“How does it work?”  
  
Her voice was soft, but it still startled him. Pausing the wheel, Rumpelstiltskin looked up to see Belle. She was in her usual place for the evening, curled up in front of the large fire with a thick book, but the novel was now closed and her eyes, bright with curiosity, were fixed on him.  
  
“How does what work?” he asked, deciding to indulge her.  
  
“The wheel. The spinning. The turning straw into gold.” Tucking her feet under her, she scooted closer to him. “How does it work?”  
  
He laughed at her question, both so simple and yet so utterly complex that even the most seasoned alchemist would have difficulty explaining. “Why, with magic, dearie!” he teased, grinning down at her. “How else?”  
  
“I know _that_ ,” she retorted, giving his leg a gentle swat. “But what _kind_ of magic? Is it yours? Is it the wheel’s? I mean,” and here her voice lowered slightly, “could _anyone_ do it? Or does the spinner need magic?”  
  
“Ahhhhh, now I see!” He shook a playful finger in her face. “Want to compete with me, do you? Start your own business? Undercut my prices?”  
  
“Oh, of course, because I’d have soooo many customers!” Belle rolled her eyes. “Perhaps I could bargain with the mice, and see if they’d give up the kitchen cupboards in exchange for golden beds.” Pushing herself up, she reached out and gently touched the wheel. “It just…fascinates me, that’s all. I was curious.”  
  
“You’re _always_ curious, dearie,” he retorted, and they both chuckled at the truth, but then his voice grew pensive. “To answer your question, I’ve never allowed anyone else to spin at my wheel. It’s my greatest treasure, you see, my biggest prize, and you of all people know how possessive I am over my trinkets.”  
  
“Oh, of course.” He avoided her eyes, but the disappointment in her voice was impossible to miss. “It is your trademark, after all. It’s perfectly understandable.”  
  
She dropped her hand from the wheel and turned to go back to her book when he spoke again, his voice deceptively casual.  
  
“Of course, no one has ever asked as prettily as you, and I suppose you _do_ deserve a little treat for all your hard work.”  
  
Belle whirled back around, her lips breaking into a wide smile. ”Truly?”  
  
Rumpelstiltskin stood, then gestured to his stool with a grand flourish. “All yours, my lady.” His eyes twinkled. “Let’s see what you can do, shall we?”  
  
Almost shivering with anticipation, Belle seated herself before the large wheel, arranging her skirts so they didn’t impede her movements. Rumpelstiltskin stood behind her and gently, almost hesitantly, lifted her arms and placed her hands properly on the wheel.  
  
“It does have its own magic,” he said softly, pressing her fingers slightly into the wood, “but that enchantment is not enough. The true power must come from the spinner, from her…desires. Her wishes.”  
  
“You mean…you mean I need to _want_ the straw to become gold?” she asked, confused. “That’s all?”  
  
“Not just _want_ , dearie. Believe. _Know_. You must spin with conviction, with confidence. After centuries, it’s become second nature to me, so hardly any concentration is required. I simply know the straw will become gold. But in the beginning, I had to convince myself of that result.” He taped a long finger against her forehead. “Real magic comes from here, you see, not from silly incantations or enchanted objects.”  
  
Belle nodded slowly, this revelation more fascinating than anything she could have ever imagined.  
  
“Keep your movements smooth and even,” he continued, beginning to turn the wheel slowly. “Be mindful of your intentions. Know what you want. The wheel will do the rest.”  
  
Though Belle did her best to focus solely on the task at hand, to say she wasn’t distracted by the man behind her would be a grievous lie. After catching her in his arms from her ungraceful plunge off the ladder, Rumpelstiltskin had been very careful not to touch her for more than the briefest of moments. Recently, she’d tried initiating physical contact – a brush of her hand here, a playful nudge there – to indicate his touch was not unwelcome. But this was the most prolonged contact they’d had since her tumble, and she was discovering she liked it _far_ too much. His hand was warm and gentle on hers, and his chest just barely grazed her back as he leaned over to adjust her arms. He smelled of straw and woods and something spicy that she could only assume was his own magical scent.  
  
Despite an almost irresistible urge to learn back against him, Belle’s innate curiosity was too strong to pass up this opportunity. She forced her mind back to his instructions, on keeping her arms relaxed and her touch light. He spun the wheel in a slow, smooth motion, then reached down to hand her a small bundle of straw.  
  
“Remember to believe,” he whispered.  
  
Biting her lip, Belle threaded the straw into the wheel, trying to envision it turning to bright gold thread as it did for him every night. At first, nothing happened, and the straw fell limply to the floor. But Belle found herself eventually lured into an almost trance-like state, hypnotized by the spinning of the wheel and Rumpelstiltskin’s soft voice in her ear and warm hand on her back. She spun and spun, losing all concept of time –he truly _hadn’t_ been lying when he said he used his wheel to forget! – when suddenly the straw felt cool to her touch and she looked down to see a single piece of sparkling gold thread.  
  
“Congratulations, dearie,” he murmured, his mouth a breath away from her ear. “Looks like you’ve got the golden touch.”  
  
Belle gasped in wonder, feeling like a child who’d just been given a special prize. Gently, as though afraid any sudden movements would undo its transformation, Belle ran her finger over the gold. Though as flexible as normal thread, there was a slight heaviness to it, and a lovely smoothness that confirmed this was more than simply gold-colored thread.  
  
“It’s…beautiful,” she whispered. “And it’s real. I did this, and it’s really real!”  
  
“As real as you and I,” he quipped, learning down to pluck the thread from her numb fingers. “But perhaps it was just beginners luck, eh?” His grin proved there was no such thing, at least not with magic, but he couldn’t resist the opportunity to tease. “Care to give it another spin?”  
  
Eagerly, Belle held out her hand for more straw. “You’re on!”  
  
***************  
Over the next few weeks, Rumpelstiltskin occasionally came into the spinning room to find his traditional place already occupied. She always immediately dropped her straw and surrendered the stool to him, and she never let her new hobby get in the way of her daily chores. She also, he noted with approval, always replenished whatever straw she used.  
  
The first time it happened, she’d given him a horribly guilty look and fled the room, clearly afraid of a reprisal. He had half a mind to toss her in the dungeon for the night, just to remind her of her place, but somehow the idea didn’t entertain him as much as it had on that first evening, so many months ago. She did no harm, she continued to uphold her bargain, and…it pleased her. Why that should matter, he knew not.  
  
But it did. So he left her be.  
  
After nearly a month of intermittent spinning, he noticed that she hadn’t been at his wheel lately. He wasn’t going to comment on it. After all, it was _his_ wheel, and he’d been extremely generous to allow her its use. But her infernal curiosity had apparently rubbed off on him, and he couldn’t help himself.  
  
“Bored with your magic tricks already?” he asked one evening, as she sat reading while he spun. “The gold not bright enough for your tastes anymore?”  
  
Glancing up from her book, Belle flashed one of his own trickster grins. “It served its purpose,” she replied mysteriously. “I’ve no more need for it at present.”  
  
He pressed her for details, but she laughingly deflected all his questions. “Be patient,” she admonished. “Just wait.”  
  
Patience, he discovered, was one of many virtues he did NOT possess.  
  
And then one evening he entered his chambers, tired after a long day of traveling and deal-making, to find a beautiful, white silk shirt folded neatly on his bed.  
  
A white silk shirt elaborately embroidered with thick golden thread.  
  
Gently, almost reverently, he reached out and picked up the garment, unfolding it to admire its perfection. She was clearly talented, as would be expected of a high-born lady. The stitches were tiny, neat and even, the seams expertly sewn. And all of it, all of it, glittered with gold.  
  
Gold spun by her hand. Gifted to him. Who _was_ this girl…this woman?  
  
Unsure for the first time in centuries, he clutched the shirt in his hands and made his way down to the kitchens, where she’d no doubt be bustling around, preparing dinner. But as he approached her from behind, he noticed her movements were somewhat jerky, almost tense. Her hand shook slightly as she added seasoning to her soup, and her ladle clanged against the pot, her stirring stiff and ungraceful.  
He cleared his throat so as not to startle her, but she still whirled around, almost dropping her spoon.  
  
“Oh! You’re back!” He eyes fell to the garment in his hands. “And...and you’ve found your shirt, I see.”  
  
He gave her a wan smile. “Hard to miss. Right in my way when I tried to crash into bed.”  
  
“Ah. Right. Of course. Sorry.” She twisted the ladle in her hands, and he took comfort from her obvious nervousness. “I…um…I hope it’s the right size. I measured it against your other shirts, but I could have made a mistake.” Where had her bravery gone, right when she needed it most??  
  
“It appears to be correct,” he allowed. “Wherever did you find the silk?” He attempted to fall back into his comfortable, joking persona. “Robbed a passing nobleman, did we? Tsk, tsk.”  
  
Laughing, though somewhat forcefully, she took a step forward and ran a finger over the silk. “I filched it from one of your storerooms,” she admitted, ducking her head. “It used to be a…well, a bed sheet, if you must know.” Her voice betrayed her nervousness. “But it clearly wasn’t getting any use, buried as it was, so I used it.” Her eyes flicked up to his. “I hope you don’t mind.”  
  
He held her gaze for several moments, the silence making her squirm, but finally he replied, “Well. It’s not as if you stole it. Gave it right back to me, technically.” He paused, running his eyes over the exquisite embroidery. “And I suppose this _is_ a sight more elegant than a bed sheet.”  
  
Belle’s eyes brightened immediately, and he wanted to kick himself for the feeling of warmth her smile spread through his chest.  
  
“Do you like it, then?” she asked hopefully. “I wanted you to be surprised. I only kept spinning until I was sure I had enough thread, and then I spent the last week sewing.”  
  
He intended to give her an off-hand comment, something light and mocking – because that’s what beasts do, after all – but before he could formulate a perfectly flippant remark, he heard himself softly say, “I like it very well indeed.”  
  
And then her smile grew brighter and in his mind the Dark One howled with rage. _~Fool! Weakling! She is not supposed to be happy! She is your prisoner! Stop caring!!~_  
  
Attempting to harness the situation, he quickly added, “Of course, I shan’t be accepting it until I know your terms.”  
  
Belle’s smiled faded, and she shook her head in confusion. “My terms? I don’t understand.”  
  
Drawing confidence from his role as dealer, he gestured with a flourish. “Magic’s not the only thing that comes with a price,” he reminded her mockingly. “Nothing else is free, not even the clothes on your back. So what price for this, hmmm?”  
  
“But there isn’t one!” she protested. “It’s a gift, freely given.”  
  
“No such thing, dearie,” he retorted, his eyes darkening slightly. “Especially not in his house.”  
  
Belle groped for an answer, clearing trying to salvage the situation. “Well then, consider it repayment for teaching me how to spin!” she said triumphantly. “Surely your lessons came with a price, and what could be more fitting than to give something made directly from your teaching?”  
  
Rumpelstiltskin considered this. She was quite correct, he had neglected to charge her for his lessons, and this could certainly be counted as a fair recompense. But his mood had improved drastically in the last few moments, and he decided not to let her off so easily. It was time to remind her with whom exactly she was dealing.  
  
“Ah, but do you not recall? I allowed you the use of my wheel in exchange for such a pretty request to try your hand at spinning.” He wagged a finger at her. “Not the most traditional deal, I’ll grant you, but a deal nonetheless.”  
  
She blew out a breath, clearly agitated. She knew he’d bluffed that one neatly, but she was clearly determined to make him accept the gift.  
  
“All right, then. My price…is that you wear it for me!” Belle nodded firmly. “Yes. Wear it and enjoy it.”  
  
He raised an eyebrow. “That’s hardly trying. I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear it.”  
  
Belle threw up her hands. “Why do you insist on making this a deal anyway? Why can’t you just accept it as a gift?”  
  
“That’s just the way I am, dearie,” he replied honestly, catching his eyes with hers. “It’s all I know.”  
  
Belle’s eyes softened, and he cursed himself again. So much for frightening her.  
  
“I see. Very well.” Pursing her lips, Belle thought for a moment, then gave another nod. “In that case, let’s make a trade. Spin _me_ something from gold.”  
  
Rumpelstiltskin crossed his arms, pacing toward her. “Now we’re getting somewhere,” he said approvingly. “What do you wish?”  
  
“Anything. Anything you want to make.”  
  
He gave her a feral smile. “I see you’ve still got a long way to go. Not much of a deal, now.” He circled her slowly. “What if I made you something ugly? Something to place by your bedside to frighten you out of your sleep?”  
  
Belle smiled thinly. “Anything. I refuse to dictate. In fact, I want your decision to be part of the deal. You must choose the form of the gift yourself, with no outside help. Just you. That is my price.”  
  
Rumpelstiltskin cackled. “Very well, dearie. The bargain is accepted. You’ll have your payment within the week.” He gave her a sidelong glance. “Whether you want it or not.”  
  
“I look forward to it,” Belle replied, inclining her head with a grin.  
  
***************  
Precisely a week later, Belle opened her eyes and screamed.  
  
On her bedside table was a hideous monstrosity, as frightening as he’d threatened. It was a golden statue depicting a gigantic, snake-like beast devouring what appeared to be a small rabbit. The monster’s eyes gleamed, its jaws snapping onto the helpless animal’s neck, its fangs burying themselves in the surprisingly life-like golden flesh. Belle shivered ever so slightly, understanding the symbolism easily.  
  
He was the beast. She was the hare. And while she didn’t believe for one moment that he’d ever hurt her, she had to admit to being completely in his power. If he wanted to destroy her, he could, no questions asked.  
  
But it was a small price to pay, no matter how dire his warnings might be, and now she could enjoy watching him strut about the castle in his new shirt. And despite it clearly meaning to scare her – and to prove a point – he HAD made the statue for her, and the detailed craftsmanship proved he’d spent a lot of time on it. Beautiful or not, deal or not, it was a gift from him, and she would treasure it.  
  
Leaning down to look closer, to at least admire the quality of the work, Belle noticed a small indentation she’d previously missed. Touching it slightly, she realized it was not a statue at all, though it was clearly meant to resemble one. It was a box, with the sculpture as an incredibly ornate lid. Curiously, she reached out and gently grasped the monster around its neck, lifting it up.  
  
And then she found herself gasping again, but this time in wonder instead of horror.  
  
Nestled inside the box was a tiny golden ring. At first, she thought it was a simple, thin band, but upon closer inspection, she realized it was engraved all the way around with tiny, intricate roses. Her breath caught in her throat, and she gently set down the box to remove its treasure. Slowly, she slid it on her finger, finding it a perfect fit ( _Of course!_ ) She walked over to her window, letting the morning sunlight splash onto her hand, turning the gold into liquid fire.  
  
So easily could she have missed this. She could have pushed the offending box out of sight and out of mind. She could have been so disgusted by it as to never look at it again. That had clearly been his intention. Startle her so much that she never took a second glace.  
  
But she hadn’t been afraid, just like she’d never been afraid of him. Did this perhaps mean that under his beastly exterior beat a heart of gold?  
  
Fueled by her excitement, Belle dressed quickly and galloped down the stairs, hoping he hadn’t left for the day on whatever deal he was currently enacting. But no, he was too much of a showman. He’d want to see her reaction, to see if she found the hidden treasure. He’d be waiting for her.  
  
And indeed he was, sitting idling at his spinning wheel, clearly pretending to work. He glanced up with mock indifference as she sauntered toward him, a grin on his face.  
  
“Enjoy your wakeup call, dearie?” he asked lightly. “Find anything interesting waiting for you?”  
  
“I saw only that you fulfilled your end of our bargain,” she replied sweetly, keeping her hands clasped behind her back. “You did warn me that you might make something hideously ugly, and I expected nothing less.”  
  
“Well, I’m so glad you weren’t disappointed.” His eyes sparkled with mirth. “And I assume you took the hint, of course? That it’s dangerous for small, cutesy animals to play with big hungry beasties?”  
  
“Oh, I took the hint just fine,” she replied, sitting down next to him on his small stool. “I took the hint that even the most delicate of animals – or flowers – can hold their own if they have the courage to face the truth.”  
  
His eyes flickered slightly as she reached up and displayed her right hand, the gold glittering between them.  
  
“Thank you,” she whispered. “It’s the most beautiful gift I’ve ever received. All of it.”  
  
And Rumpelstiltskin let out a breath he didn’t even know he’d been holding, ignoring as the Dark One raged in his mind. She’d passed the test. She deserved her reward. She deserved happiness.  
  
“You’re welcome.”  
  
***************  
A few days later, Rumpelstiltskin noticed Belle had taken up spinning again. They never spoke of it, but she’d occasionally give him a grin as she vacated the stool at his approach, or when she was replenishing the straw. He told himself he wasn’t interested in her new secret project, but when he walked into his bedroom a month later to find a heavy velvet cloak edged with gold, he couldn’t contain his glee.  
  
Belle found him in the Great Hall, preening before a window. The burgundy velvet (formerly drapes in one of his storerooms) complimented him even more perfectly than his silk shirt (which was already wearing a bit thin, since he wore it almost every day). She made a mental note to do something about that. But first, the cloak.  
  
“And how do you find your gift, my lord?” she asked, dipping into a deep curtsey.  
  
“As always, madam, your sewing talents are exceeded only by your skill with a feather duster,” he replied gallantly, sweeping her a bow.  
  
“Why thank you.” Belle stepped forward, a large smile on her face. “And before you ask, I already have my price, so you needn’t worry about that.”  
  
“Ah, how splendid.” Rumpelstiltskin bared his teeth, mocking her grin. “And what do you wish this time? Something else to fuel your nightmares? Or perhaps you’re hoping to charm more jewels out of me?”  
  
“No, something infinitely more precious.” Stepping forward, Belle surprised him by grasping his hands in hers, gripping them tightly. “My terms are thus. In exchange for accepting this cloak, you promise that from this day forward, we will never need to make deals with one another again. If I wish to give you gifts, I may, without anything needed or expected in return.” Here she paused, and her voice softened. “And though I expect nothing from you, if you were ever were so inclined, your gifts must also be free, or I shall not accept them.” Straightening, her voice returning to full strength, she looked him in the eye. “This is my deal, Rumpelstiltskin. Will you accept?”  
  
He stared at her wordlessly, the cloak suddenly feeling like lead on his shoulders. In the back of his mind, the Dark One howled, calling her deceitful, a trickster, a liar. Who would ever choose to give him _anything_ , much less a beautiful woman? Everyone wanted something. Why should she be any different?  
  
But she gazed up at him with honest, hopeful eyes, and he looked down at their enjoined hands to see the band of gold shining on her finger.  
  
He hadn’t trusted anyone for centuries. He should _not_ make an exception for her.  
  
“The price you ask…is a high one,” he replied finally, refusing to meet her eyes. “And while I commend the improvement in your bargaining skills, I do not know if I wish to agree to such an exceptionally difficult trade.”  
  
“I do understand,” she replied softly, squeezing his hands. “But..” and here her voice lightened, “…it is an exceptionally fine cloak, is it not?”  
  
And Rumpelstiltskin found himself laughing, her merry voice joining with his. “Yes, it is, indeed. Almost as fine as my favorite shirt.” Taking a deep breath, he allowed a single nod. “Well, far be it from me to prevent my housekeeper from taking on even more work. If I’d known you were such a good seamstress, I would have made this part of your duties from the first!”  
  
Belle’s smile put the sun to shame. “It’s a deal, then?”  
  
Rumpelstiltskin tried to give an indifferent shrug. “It seems quite foolish of me to reject free clothing, since you seem dead set on making such fine things for me. Mustn’t be seen looking like a ragamuffin while dealing with kings and queens, after all.”  
  
“Oh no, that wouldn’t do at all,” she agreed, reaching up to adjust the cloak’s collar. “You must always been seen at your very best.”  
  
 _But that is only with you, Belle,_ he thought, gazing down into her shining eyes. _Only with you._  
  
Aloud, he said simply, “Now then, off to work, if you please. Castle doesn’t dust itself, and if you insist on stealing more and more of my straw, you’re going to need to fetch larger bundles from the storerooms. And really, dearie, where _is_ my breakfast?”  
  
Laughing, Belle smacked him on the shoulder, then practically danced toward the kitchen to prepare his morning meal. Looking down, Rumpelstiltskin admired his cloak once more, a small voice asking if he thought it was worth the colossal price he’d just paid.  
  
Only time could answer that, but for now, he had to admit that no deal had ever felt better, and no gold had ever shimmered so brightly in the sunlight.  
  
And for right now, that was enough.


End file.
